


Falling, Many Times

by TigerMoonBETA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys on a Date, Cute, Established Relationship, Fluff, Insecure Draco, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Rated Teen for a Few Swears, Rollerskating, brief angst, simple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 14:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18593461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerMoonBETA/pseuds/TigerMoonBETA
Summary: “You promised you’d give muggle things a try on a date with me,” Harry mutters below his breath.“Yes,” Draco allows. His eyes dart frantically around. “That was before I knew muggles liked to strap wheels to their feet for shits and giggles.”Harry and Draco go roller skating.





	Falling, Many Times

“Potter. What  _ is  _ this?”

 

“I told you. It’s called roller skating.”

 

“It looks hazardous,” Draco bristles, his upper lip curling. Judgement and disdain could only be so perfectly rolled up into the twitch of a muscle by a Malfoy. “You can’t possibly expect me to partake.” 

 

“You promised you’d give muggle things a try on a date with me,” Harry mutters below his breath, as close to Draco’s ear as he can muster because he doesn’t want anyone to hear him use the word muggle and subsequently throw them both odd looks. With his hand on the small of Draco’s back, he gives a little push and ushers him further into the room. No sense in gaining enemies by holding up the line. 

 

“Yes,” Draco allows. His eyes dart frantically around. “That was before I knew muggles liked to strap wheels to their feet for shits and giggles.” 

 

When he puts it like that, Harry finds it hard to argue. What could he say? ‘It’s fun.’ Loads of things are fun, Draco would scoff. But they chose this? Roller skating couldn’t possibly be more fun than flying. Than Quidditch. But Harry doesn’t want to goad that conversation, so he simply forces Draco onto an obscenely neon bench with a shake of his head. 

“I already paid for admission so you have no choice,” he informs his date. “Give me your shoes.”

 

“Pardon?!”

 

Harry sighs. 

“I need to have them in order to get the skates.”

 

“These are  _ expensive,”  _ Draco scowls. 

 

“You’ll get them back when we leave.”

 

There are a few seconds stalemate between them, two boys glaring at each other, one with a creased brow, the other a twitch under his right eye. But eventually Draco relents, rolling his eyes much more dramatically than necessary as he unties his shoes and hands them to Harry with pointed stiffness. 

 

Harry takes them.

“Stay here while I get our skates and try not to look so offended.” 

 

“These carpets  _ are  _ offensive,” Draco hisses after Harry as he begins to walk away. “This print is repulsive, that’s what it is.” Even though Harry is probably out of earshot by now, the blonde continues to grumble to himself, toeing at the triangles and other various shapes in the rug, and then cringing when he thinks about all the disgusting things that must linger in this place. 

 

Harry won’t say that he requests the  _ least used pair of skates you have please, even if it’s more expensive  _ because he doesn’t care, he has muggle money, and the last thing he wants is for Draco to have something else to whine over. 

 

He tries it too. The skates are a horrendous tan with bright orange laces and when Draco opens his mouth to spew shit about it, Harry stares him down hard. 

This is suppose to be a date, at least in theory. They still drive each other up a wall on the worst days, but somehow it’s worked so far. 

 

Once he’s all laced up, Harry pushes himself up off the bench, knees loose and he jostles for a moment, but then it comes back to him. 

It’s been years, he realizes and he tries to think of just that number and not all the things that happened in between. 

 

Draco announces himself wordlessly with an attention seeking exhale and he moves to stand- Harry’s hands are already reaching out reflexively for what he knows is inevitable. As soon as he’s halfway off the bench, Draco slips and jerks, his feet moving on their own accord. 

 

“Bloody f-!” he cuts himself off by landing back on the bench heavily, grasping Harry’s hands in his own. It earns them a few head turns, but that fades rather quickly. 

 

“You’re lucky I picked a time when not many people are here,” Harry says and he can’t help it that he feels a smirk coming on.

 

“This is literally impossible,” Draco sneers and he looks over to the rink, observing the few people actually out on the floor and how, for the most part, they’re moving seamlessly. There are a few stragglers in the middle who wobble every few moments, but there are even a few small children skating just fine and that makes his blood boil, being outdone by a toddler. 

 

“It’s not,” Harry tells him. “You just have to learn. Or I could get you the skates with the wheels that don’t roll so you can walk around like some wanker.” 

 

“Absolutely not,” Draco grinds his teeth together. 

 

“You’ll get it,” and Harry squeezes his hand because even though it seems his supply of ‘last nerves’ is endless for Draco, he wants this to at least not crash and burn. “I only went once as a kid and I managed to pick it up just fine.” 

 

“You went  _ once? _ ” Draco deadpans but somehow it’s full of disbelief. 

 

“Yeah. Once for my cousin’s birthday, my aunt couldn’t find anyone to babysit me so I had to come with them.”

Grey eyes are darting around again, like he’s too restless being sat on the bench, helpless and unable to run. So Harry urges him to stand again. 

“Keep your knees soft- put one of your toes down if you want. That’s what the stopper is for.” 

 

“I  _ got it _ ,” Draco bats him away and manages it this time. It’s lucky too that Harry was smart enough to pick a bench right next to the rink- the barrier that surrounds it is bright blue and comes up just below their waists. It’s a crutch, and Draco clings to it as they ease their way in. 

There still aren’t many people- which is a relief because it means he doesn’t have to send Draco into the middle where the beginners are supposed to skate, supervised by a staff member, instead of in the fast lanes. Harry cringes as he imagines how that would go; Draco falling on his arse, them trying to help him up or give him tips and him going absolutely batshit, getting them kicked out. 

 

“Just stay along the wall,” he tells Draco instead in a soft voice, one that’s barely audible over the music they’re playing but soft all the same. 

 

“You’re leaving me here?!” Draco asks with panicked abandon. 

 

“No, no,” Harry shakes his head. He passes in front of Draco, then turns around, taking one Draco’s hands in his own, leaving the one pressed against the wall for support. They continue to creep slowly in the same direction, so effectively he’s-

 

“You can skate  _ backwards too?!” _

 

“Yes,” Harry tells him honestly because the proof is literally in front of him and he can’t think of what else to say. Dumbly he shrugs, pushing his hair out of his face and sliding his glasses back up his nose. 

 

“Go on then,” Draco orders him suddenly, slipping his hand free and waving it in a vague direction. “Show me what else you can do.”

 

“You want me to leave you here by yourself?”

 

“No but I can tell you want to show off,” Draco smirks with a glint. 

 

Harry’s not really sure where that vibe is coming from, but he  _ would  _ like to show off for his date if it didn’t mean that Draco would only get more offended or competitive over something that didn’t matter at all. 

“I’d rather skate with you,” is what Harry tells him simply, connecting their hands again and pulling the both of them along. 

 

As though so affronted, Draco shuts himself up, and continues to skate. Or really, tries to. He fumbles so violently in the first minute, he insistently shakes Harry off because he knows that if he falls, he’s going to drag both of them down. It proves to be so. 

Draco loses his balance rather quickly, throwing his arms out in a last ditch attempt to no avail as he practically throws himself backwards, landing on his arse. 

 

“That,” Draco says after a few suspended moments of silent shock. “Hurt. A lot.” 

 

“It happens,” Harry tells him because it’s true, and he waits for Draco to heave himself up instead of offering a hand because that’s a terrible idea. 

 

And it does- happen. It happens at least four more times. As an hour goes by, Harry can see the lines in Draco’s forehead deepen, and he’s afraid that scowl is going to be permanent. 

The blonde worries his lip between his teeth, unwanting to press on. It’s apparent that repeatedly  _ not getting it _ has frustrated him to no end. 

 

“We can stop if you-“

 

“ _ No,”  _ Draco shakes his head vehemently. “I just don’t understand! How were you able to get this in one day, years ago, and you’re still good at it now?!” 

 

“I dunno. Does it matter?”

 

“Yes it matters!” Draco yells and throws his hands up so violently Harry knows that it’s just a disaster waiting to happen. The blonde tips, his skates rolling out from under him, and he slams backward into the ground, although thankfully avoids hitting his head. In the obnoxiously flashing disco lights, Harry thinks he sees tears. 

With concern, Harry crouches down next to Draco’s side, his knees resting solidly on the waxed wood. 

 

“It matters because you’re just  _ good  _ at  _ everything, _ ” Draco rants, his voice wavering. “Always better than everyone else. Better than me.” 

 

“That’s not true.” His thumb reaches out, gliding against the hollow of Draco’s cheek and he sighs. They’re not suppose to stop in the fast lanes, but there’s hardly anyone here so he hopes nobody will find a problem with it. 

 

“Yeah?” Draco points his nose up. “Prove it.”

 

“You always did better than me in potions. Really everything in school.”

 

“Oh so I got good grades?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry chuckles. “And what can I do? Strap wheels on my feet and roll around like a git?” 

 

That must be exactly the right thing to say. Draco’s mouth opens and closes fruitlessly, even as Harry moves to kiss him on the cheek and then stands. 

 

“Now get up you big baby.” 

 

“Oh,” Draco laughs haughtily, dragging himself off the ground. “I am  _ so  _ taking you somewhere ridiculously expensive after this where you’ll look daft when you don’t know the difference between the salad fork and the dinner fork.” 

 

“I look forward to it.” 

 

“Good,” the blonde sniffs. “Now help me get back to the bench.”

 

“You want to leave?”

 

“No, I want to sit down. But I want to watch you skate.” 

 

Harry thinks skating is a little bit like flying. It would be the closest thing he’d get to the feeling of exhilaration while still on the ground. Adrenaline rushes through his veins as he does laps around the rest of them, watching the lines and lights on the floor until they all blend together into nothingness. It’s freeing. 

But now he’s older. And flying could never be bested by this. 

 

Harry walks out of the building on wobbly legs, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, and Draco’s hand in his own. 

**Author's Note:**

> it’s to be noted i’m a simple american and i don’t know much about how british culture involves rollerstaking, if it does at all, and if roller skating rinks are decorated like the ‘80s’ like they are here. nor did i feel like looking it up.   
> i just went roller skating with a friend the other day and was inspired to write this! hope you enjoyed


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